Dad fucks Monster Curves Kesha Ortega with his son!

Kesha Ortega waltzed in with that outrageous body—hips like a checkpoint and an ass that looked like a punchline you wish you wrote. She flopped down, grinning like she knew the budget was about to break. In came stud with the fire-hose situation between his legs. One look at her smile and he was already leaking ideas. She grabbed it, happy with the math, and lined herself up. He drove in. Hard. She moaned like a pop-song chorus. Each brutal pump set her bouncing, her curves jiggling in directions most physics professors would call suspicious. He grabbed a fistful of that booty, kept going like the scene had an open-tab policy. Sweat rolled down the small of her back. She cursed in Spanish, he answered with hips. A couple of positions later the whole room was a demo reel of broken furniture and floating hair strands. She came first—twice, then again for emphasis—and stud followed with a feral grunt that rattled the picture frames. Somewhere off-camera an intern probably filed a noise-complaint with HR. When the final drop landed, Kesha gave the lens a wink that said "don’t at me." Credits hadn’t rolled yet, and somebody was already yelling for Gatorade.